


The "Stop Being Such A Fucking Mess" Agenda

by dannyPURO



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras Likes Grantaire A Lot, First Kiss, Getting Together, Grantaire Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyPURO/pseuds/dannyPURO
Summary: Grantaire has a plan: he’s going to ask Enjolras out on a date, and then kiss him exactly once, maybe just on the cheek. Enjolras will say no to the date. Enjolras will gently but coldly rebuke him. And then Grantaire will make himself get over him.It’s actually one small section of what he affectionately calls his "Stop Being Such A Fucking Mess" plan, but, admittedly, it’s an important one. Being hopelessly, desperately in love with Enjolras hasn’t exactly made him feel particularly good about himself, nor has it made him drink less, nor has it made him go to sleep early instead of staying up all night painting somebody he can never have.





	The "Stop Being Such A Fucking Mess" Agenda

Grantaire has a plan: he’s going to ask Enjolras out on a date, and then kiss him exactly once, maybe just on the cheek. Enjolras will say no to the date. Enjolras will gently but coldly rebuke him. And then Grantaire will make himself get over him.

It’s actually one small section of what he affectionately his  _ Stop Being Such A Fucking Mess _ plan, but, admittedly, it’s an important one. Being hopelessly, desperately in love with Enjolras hasn’t exactly made him feel particularly good about himself, nor has it made him drink less, nor has it made him go to sleep early instead of staying up all night painting somebody he can never have.

So, as a second step-- the first had been to start trying to stop drinking, or just to drink less, which he’s been working on, he’s going to stop being so in love with Enjolras. He’ll ask him out, get his answer, stop fucking  _ pining _ , take his last hurrah and his fucking kiss and get a move on.

He just has to work up the nerve to do so. He’s been in this pathetic state of pining for the better part of five years, after all. That doesn’t go away so easily, not without a struggle. 

Long story short, he’s sprawled across Jehan’s lap on their shag carpet, eyes shut, letting himself enjoy the feeling of their bony fingers in his hair. 

“I’m gonna do it today,” Grantaire says, after a little while.

Jehan makes a sad little noise and lays a hand on Grantaire’s cheek, urging him to open his eyes. He doesn’t. “Grantaire,” they say, softly.

He sighs. “I don’t want to hear it, Jehan. I’ve already decided.”

“You know I completely support your plan,” Jehan says, and they’re biting their lip, Grantaire sees, when he cracks his eyes open. “I just…” they hesitate. “I think you might not have considered all of your options.”

Grantaire laughs, and it sounds mirthless, even in his own ears. “Right, I forgot that Enjolras might burst into tears, drop down onto one knee, pull out a diamond ring, and propose  on the spot.”

Jehan frowns. “I just don’t like how you’ve already decided for him, is all. You can’t know what will happen.”

Grantaire has considered, is the thing. “If I think about it more, I’ll realize that he’ll probably sock me in the jaw and forbid me from ever seeing any of you ever again. I think I’ll stick to my version, thanks.”

“Grantaire…”

Grantaire shuts his eyes again and waits for Jehan to give up and go back to running their fingers through his hair. They do, after a hesitant moment, and Grantaire lets himself relax until the meeting.

Because right. The meeting.

Grantaire considers-- really, really considers, not going. He does so a couple of times, actually, particularly when he spends a good ten minutes on the floor by the door of his apartment, thinking over all the ways he could possibly excuse missing the meeting to his own mind.

His mind is a wily thing, though, despite its many flaws, so he finds himself at the Musain anyways. 

He’s antsy, during the meeting: saying far too much, going to far, launching sharp jabs and letting loose meandering arguments, and then saying nearly nothing at all, and then going back to the first state. Back and forth, eyes fixed on Enjolras, drinking him in, because for all he knows, it might be the last night he might ever be permitted to do so. 

The meeting is over before he knows it, and he’s messed up: Enjolras is already annoyed at him. He’s not sure what he was expecting, exactly, as that’s the typical result of any and all interactions between them, but he’s disappointed in himself, nonetheless. He made a promise to himself, though, so he dawdles, loitering in the back of the room as the other file out, chattering amongst themselves and laughing. Courfeyrac and Bossuet are going out clubbing, apparently, and they’re trying to convince Marius to come along with his girlfriend. Feuilly is going over to Bahorel’s. Joly is tired, and going home to Musichetta, but they’ll both miss Bossuet and wait up for him. 

Enjolras is still there, looking over his notes but mostly watching Grantaire. Which means he has to do this.

“Apollo,” Grantaire says, getting to his feet. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Enjolras shakes his head, bewildered. “Not right now.”

“A moment of your time, then.”

They meet in the center of the room, which is appropriate, Grantaire figures. A truce zone. A compromise, for once.

“Yes, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire draws in a breath.

“I have something to ask you.”

Enjolras nods, like this is normal, and he’s looking at Grantaire so intently, so earnestly, that he can hardly bring himself to go through with his plan. He could keep living like this, right? Keep watching from afar, so long as he gets to watch? So long as he gets to hear Enjolras’s voice, gets to talk to him, gets to see those fiery eyes?

He can’t, though. He feels like his heart is breaking, and he feels like that all the time, and it’s time he moved on.

So Grantaire takes a step forward, and then another.

Enjolras frowns. “Grantaire?”

“I-” his voice cracks, because he can’t believe he’s actually doing this, and then he’s leaning in and sliding a hand into Enjolras’s golden curls and kissing him. Soft, like he’d promised himself. Barely anything, just a press of lips against lips. Like a kiss one might exchange with a close friend, in some other time.

Then it changes. It takes a moment for Grantaire to realize that it wasn’t him who leaned in, who pushed closer, who moaned, and when he does, his mind whites out. He can’t think, he can’t do anything of the sort, he can only go along as Enjolras tugs him down and grapples for a better grip on his shoulders and kisses him deep and long and with  _ tongue. _

It’s like a dream. Scratch that, Grantaire never even allowed himself this much in dreams. Even then, it was chaste kisses, the feeling of a delicate hand in his own, the permission to hold Enjolras close.

This is nothing chaste by any definition of the word.

This is Enjolras taking, and taking, and giving, and giving. The kiss is so desperate that Grantaire almost gives in, almost falls for it.

He doesn’t.

Grantaire pulls away, even against the strange moment of Enjolras following him, trying to keep the kiss going, protesting when Grantaire guides his hands away from his body. He takes a second, just to clear his head as best he can, and then tries to meet Enjolras eyes. 

Enjolras is watching him like he never has before and Grantaire doesn’t know what it  _ means _ and he doesn’t know what to do but to go along with his plan. 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, barely a whisper. “That’s not what I meant to-”

Enjolras is almost angry in a flash and really, that’s more like it. “Then what did you mean to do, Grantaire? I can’t-” he takes a deep breath, and out comes rational, diplomat Enjolras (who Combeferre is trying ever so hard to create), and that’s almost as bad. Grantaire hardly wants to be a pity case. “I’m sorry. What did you mean to ask me?”

He sighs, then resolves to get it over with quickly. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Enjolras looks… surprised, but almost pleasantly so, somehow. Which makes it more surprising for Grantaire than for Enjolras himself, probably, because Enjolras has quirked a little smile in that awkward little way of his-- God, he’s beautiful, and is looking up at Grantaire with something that looks like softness in his eyes. “Oh,” he says, voice soft too, now. “Yes, I would.”

Grantaire freezes. Christ, he should have been better prepared, Jehan was right, because he doesn’t even have any idea what’s going on and he’s not sure if this is pity or equality or a misunderstanding or  _ what _ the  _ fuck, _ and he doesn’t know what to do. “I- What do you mean?” 

Enjolras furrows his brow, but his eyes stay soft and his mouth stays smiling. “Yes. I want to go out with you.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You weren’t supposed to say  _ yes _ ,” he chokes out, and he’s got a lump in his throat that’s feeling pretty dangerous.

Enjolras does frown, then, and he takes a step back, after a moment. “Did- did you not mean it?” he asks, and he sounds heartbroken and Grantaire doesn’t  _ understand. _ Of course he meant it.

“Of course I fucking meant it,” he says, and he scrapes a hand through his hair. “But you weren’t supposed to say yes, Apollo, what-”

“But I wanted to.”

“ _ Enjolras.” _

Enjolras takes a step forward again, and Grantaire isn’t sure if it feels like mercy or like some cruel punishment. “I liked that you kissed me.”

Grantaire thinks he might have whimpered, but he isn’t sure.

“I want to go out with you. I hope you meant that for real, not just a casual thing. It’s rushing it, I know, but I want to be in a relationship with you.”

All Grantaire can think is that he must be passed out and dreaming so hard right now, and that if he isn’t, Jehan is going to laugh at him. And then have a serious talk about self esteem.

“Grantaire?”

“Could you repeat that?” he says, voice weak and trembling, but hell, at least he’s trying.

Enjolras is smiling again. “I want to be in a relationship with you. Really, anything you’re willing to give.”

He lets out a breath. “Oh, come on, Apollo. You don’t want that.” Now he’s back to joking, which he can do, even if his heart is pounding and he can’t manage more than a whisper. Back on track.

“I do.” Enjolras says it so resolutely that Grantaire doesn’t know how to respond.

“I-” Grantaire looks down at Enjolras with pleading eyes, and he can’t quite bring himself to say what he wants to, which is  _ Please, Enjolras, I don’t know what to do, you have to tell me, I trust you _ . He settles for meeting his gaze and hoping Enjolras understands anyways.

Enjolras must have. He rests a gentle hand on the side of Grantaire’s neck, leans up on his tiptoes, and presses a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s mouth. Light. Chaste. “Date me?” he asks, and God, what a ridiculous bastardization of Grantaire’s plan-gone-awry. 

“Okay,” Grantaire manages, and Enjolras kisses him again, just as quickly.

Grantaire has to sit down heavily in a nearby chair. He’d mourn the loss of the feeling of Enjolras’s hand on him, only it trails down with him, and only slips away after a long moment and a subtle ruffle of the hair at the nape of Grantaire’s neck. 

“You’re beautiful,” Grantaire says, gazing up at Enjolras. He feels drunk. He’s not drunk, for once-- again, part of the plan, but his head is spinning and he’s got stars in his eyes. He wonders if it will always feel like this.

“You’re always saying that.” Enjolras cocks his hip and looks down at Grantaire, like he’s reevaluating something.

“It’s true.” They watch each other, then, for a while, until Grantaire remembers something, thinks about what it might might mean. He flushes. “Did you mean it?”

Enjolras brushes his fingers against Grantaire’s wrist. “Mean what?”

“You said you wanted anything I’d be willing to give. Did you-”

“I meant it. Completely. Grantaire, I… I love you. I’d take anything.”

Grantaire can’t breathe. “Take me home with you,” is what slips out, and it’s what he meant to ask, true, but once he’s said he can’t help but to admire his nerve.

Enjolras lets out a breathless laugh. “Oh.”

“Take me home with you, I’ve been in love with you for so long,” he says, correcting himself, pleading, really. 

“ _ Oh. _ ” Enjolras reaches out a hand and pulls Grantaire to his feet, right up against his chest. Grantaire can feel Enjolras breathing. “I only live a couple stops away.”

Grantaire waits as Enjolras collects his papers and his laptop and his notebooks into his back, then looks down at the hand offered to him in something like shock.

He’d never turn that offer down, though. He trails behind Enjolras, far too close for anything but this, anyone but them, hand in hand with him. He sits next to him on the metro, their legs pressed together hip to ankle. He follows him out of the metro and down the street and into a vaguely familiar apartment building and up the stairs and then they’re together, in private, in Enjolras’s apartment.

They still haven’t let go of each others’ hands.

They pause, once the door is closed. 

“Do you want some tea?” Enjolras asks, looking down at their hands, still interlaced. 

Grantaire wants anything, so long as it’s with Enjolras. Now that he gets to have this now, Christ, he’d be happy anywhere. “Yeah, okay.”

Enjolras leads him into the kitchen and sits him down at the table as he sets to work making tea. Grantaire watches him, and thinks about how he’s pretty sure his life changed completely in less than an hour. He’s going to need to reconfigure his whole  _ Stop Being Such A Fucking Mess  _ plan, he realizes, now that he’s dating-- or is he already in a relationship with? The love of his life.

A mug of tea gets set down in front of him, drawing him back to the present. “Not regretting anything yet, I hope?” Enjolras asks, but he sounds almost nervous.

Grantaire shakes his head and takes a sip of tea. “Never.”

“Good.” Enjolras sits down across from him, and they drink their tea together, and when they’re finished, he clears his throat. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re really looking for, tonight, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, of course, but I was just wondering as to…” he fades off, flushed pink.

“I just want to be with you,” Grantaire admits. “I want to lie next to you. I want-” he can hardly believe he’s asking this of Enjolras, his Apollo, “I want you to kiss me again, and again.”

Enjolras looks endlessly pleased and Grantaire isn’t sure he deserves all that, really, but he can’t be worried about it when Enjolras stands up and tugs him into the direction of his bedroom. He sits down on the bed. Grantaire stands in front of him, unsure. 

“Lay with me,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire hesitates before reaching for the fly of his jeans. He can’t cuddle Enjolras for the first time in  _ jeans _ , it isn’t right. 

He shucks them off, and when he straightens up again, Enjolras is staring.

When he reaches out to touch one of Enjolras’s curls, Enjolras startles back into motion. He stands and unbuttons his pants, as well, turned away from Grantaire in a move that’s probably subconscious. He reaches for his shirt, next, after a moment’s hesitation, and Grantaire watches in awe as he slips it off. 

“I’ll just…” Enjolras motions towards his dresser, probably to find a t-shirt, but Grantaire doesn’t want that. 

He turns Enjolras around, instead, with a hand on his bare shoulder, and lets himself look for a few seconds and a few seconds only. God, does he want more, but that can wait. It can all wait. 

Grantaire slips beneath the comforter and holds it open for Enjolras, who curls against him-- a warm, perfect form against his own.

“You wanted to kiss me?” Enjolras asks, voice soft, eyes wide, and right, Grantaire did. Grantaire does.

He leans in again, slowly, cautiously, and presses a tentative kiss to Enjolras’s perfect lips. 

Enjolras kisses back, less desperate than before but so solid, so sure, and Grantaire lets him. He lets him lick into his mouth, lets him nip at his bottom lip, lets him do as he pleases because it all pleases Grantaire.

The kisses get more intense as time goes on. Enjolras shifts them so that he’s on top, and Grantaire lets his hands wander: to his back, his shoulders, his hair, his hips. Not his ass, surely not- but then Enjolras is grabbing his hand and moving it to grope at it, so clearly that’s okay, and oh, God, what on Earth is he supposed to do, besides accept? He doesn’t want to do anything else, that’s for certain.

He becomes vaguely aware that he’s trembling. Enjolras must notice, too, because he pulls away by an inch or so and strokes a hand through his hair. “Too much?” he asks, but that isn’t the problem at all.

Grantaire shakes his head. “No, never, it’s just… it’s just that- that… I didn’t ever even dare imagine this, you have to understand, I feel like my world got turned upside down. I thought that kiss was all I was ever going to get.” 

Enjolras has his arms around him in an instant, holding him close. “You can have anything, everything, from me, Grantaire.” He shifts closer. Grantaire is made aware of the hardness between his own legs, the hardness between Enjolras’s. “We’re going to have to talk about this self-esteem thing,” he says, seriously, but Grantaire doesn’t mind like he usually does. It might have to do with the way that Enjolras is slowly slipping a leg in between Grantaire’s thighs and grinding it subtly. It might have to do with the way that Enjolras loves him.

He tugs Enjolras closer with hands on his hips and buries his face in his neck. Enjolras breathes in, moves his leg so it’s something real to grind against. And as little as Grantaire can believe that it could ever possibly be allowed, he does. 

Slowly, at first. He ruts up against Enjolras bare thigh, his own boxers the only thing between them. It’s so  _ much _ , and he knows he’s making whimpering noises in the back of his throat, but he can’t stop and he doesn’t want to.

He can feel Enjolras’s hot breath against his hair. And it would be enough, it’s already more than enough, but he gathers himself and says, steady as he can, “Enjolras, please.”

Enjolras groans and fucks forward. “I like it when you say my name. You never do, it’s always  _ Apollo _ , but I like it when you say my name.”

If that isn’t motivation to drop the nickname, Grantaire doesn’t know what is. “Enjolras,” he says again, begging. Just for a little bit more. A touch, a kiss like before, something.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Enjolras says, and then he’s pushing down his own underwear, and then Grantaire’s, and then he’s taking both their cocks in hand as best he can, and that’s all Grantaire knows or cares to.

He notices, a little later, that he’s mouthing desperately at Enjolras’s neck, that perfect jawline-- pressing kisses, nibbling, muttering nothing and everything at once. He almost stops himself, because who is he to leave a mark, but then he feels Enjolras pulling him back in. 

“I don’t care if anyone sees,” he gasps. “I want them to. Want them to know.”

That’s all it takes. Grantaire lets himself bite and suck at the soft skin there, leaving bruises until there’s too much feeling and he can do nothing but breathe hot, sticky breaths against Enjolras’s collarbone. It’s so much, and that’s Enjolras’s hand on his dick, and Enjolras’s dick there too, and Enjolras is moaning softly. He’s going to come any minute, he just knows it. How on Earth is he ever supposed to last?

Enjolras must be in much the same boat, though, because he tugs Grantaire up from where he’d been staring at the red marks on Enjolras’s neck and kisses him wet and messy and wonderful. “Fuck, R,” he murmurs, in between kisses, and it’s one of the only times Grantaire has ever heard him swear. “Love you.”

That’s enough. Grantaire comes hard, holding tight onto Enjolras, watching him with wide eyes as he finishes him off. Enjolras comes, too, moments later, and Grantaire wants to save the memory forever. 

Then Enjolras lets out a happy sigh, and tugs the blanket over them both, and kisses him again, and Grantaire realizes that he might not need to, because it doesn’t seem as though either of them are keen on giving this up for a very, very long time.

“I love you too,” Grantaire says. “Let me stay the night?”

Enjolras holds him close. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> in this house we love and support grantaire
> 
> also, everyone should listen to jehan, always.
> 
> cheers!


End file.
